Portrait of the Past
by MelanthaAilee
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione find a painting that might have something to do with Professor Snape's past. Rated T for possible violence. Finished but not all posted.
1. Chapter 1

The wind whipped through the stone archway above Harry, Hermione, and Ron where they sat, effectively blocking the breeze from their books. They had sprawled out on the grass below the covered walkway, out of sight from other students. It had been Hermione's suggestion, since the Common Room was getting far too loud for studying, and Ron and Harry were thoroughly sick of the library. But it had backfired in a way; the day was so sunny that the two boys were paying very little attention to the texts, and more to polishing their brooms for Quidditch practice. Hermione had attempted to get them to leave them behind, but both argued incessantly about the final game so that she covered her ears and gave in with a loud sigh.

"Really, unless you think your brooms hold the key to the Torrent Charm," she said archly, watching them make another pass with the polish, "I don't see how you'll even complete the next exam."

Ron rolled his eyes, although he was careful that only Harry saw it. Setting aside his broom, Harry smiled but turned to Hermione anyway. "That's not fair," he said, his voice friendly teasing. "Ron and I have been studying all week, and you know it, 'Mione." He shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not saying we'll ace it, but you can't be on us for that much."

Hermione pursed her lips, as if debating whether or not to keep after them, but reluctantly said, "Oh, all right, I suppose you have been doing at least some reading." Her tone suggested that some reading was akin to reading the contents page, but she set aside her own text. "But the Daily Prophet doesn't count."

"They caught another one," Ron said, almost distractedly, shooting a glance at Harry. "Another Death Eater." His voice caught, but his expression didn't change, a testament to his suppressing his normal reaction. "Dunno if it was anyone to do with your parents," he said, to Harry. "Didn't recognize the name, anyway."

"Neither did I," Harry admitted, looking down at his fingernails a moment. "The Prophet said they found a few suspicious things in his house, but…" He looked up at his friends, his green eyes serious. "I think Dumbledore would tell me if they found anything to do with my parents. Right?"

Hermione and Ron nodded, as certain as he was. They had come to trust Dumbledore, even when he seemed enigmatic. They trusted the Order even more, although Harry still had trouble now and then believing Snape was a member. When he tried to recall how Snape had indeed saved his life, his thoughts were overrun with memories of Sirius, and he ruthlessly shoved them away.

"If they found anything with your parents, Dumbledore would have told you for sure," Hermione said, loyally. "Besides, if that Death Eater had something that belonged to your parents, it would be yours by right, now."

"Yea," Ron seconded. "They can't keep things that are yours, mate. Got to be legal and all that, even the Ministry." He nodded with solemn authority.

"Yea, well…" Harry let his words trail off, as he picked a blade of grass and shredded it with a ragged fingernail. "If it was something tied to You-Know-Who," he used the name in respect for how Ron reacted, "then the Ministry'd probably lock it up, to look at now and then-"

Hermione shushed him as they heard heavy footsteps on the stone above their heads. Quickly, the three pressed their backs to the stone, gathering the brooms and their texts close. Since the upcoming game was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, there had been skirmishes all over school, and neither Harry nor Ron wanted their broom hexed. Especially after they had just waxed them. Plus, they couldn't discuss the Order, or even Voldemort, where the other students could overhear, or else it would be all over in no time.

But it wasn't a students scuffling step they heard, but slow measured ones. Just as Harry was about to speak, he heard Dumbledore's gentle tones. "I wanted you to know first," he was saying to someone. "I understand it might be….awkward at best, but I truly thought this was the best place for the painting."

There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by a few more steps, as Dumbledore and his companion came to a stop in the stone walkway above. Harry pictured them looking out over the grounds, but knew his and the others hiding spot was invisible to those above.

"Why did he have that among his possessions?" came the response, and Harry felt a cold prickling down his back as he recognized Professor Snape's voice. The question was clearly rhetorical, but Harry heard the undercurrent of fury, underlaid with….jealousy? No, that couldn't be right. He exchanged a fearful look with Hermione and Ron. If Snape knew they were listening in on a private conversation, he would dock points from all of them, but they couldn't find a graceful way out of this now. "I don't.." Snape continued, with a pause, then said, "I don't like the idea of….of it being here, in the school. Especially where the students could..gawk." His voice was troubled.

"Severus," came Dumbledore's faintly chiding tone. "I simply wouldn't feel right letting the Ministry keep it, and I can't condone it being locked away and forgotten. Surely you feel the same way?"

If Snape answered, it was in his expression, which they couldn't see. After a moment, he said, evenly, "Where is it hanging?"

"On the fourth floor," Dumbledore replied. "I've taken the liberty of placing it along the north side, well away from the library and close to where the Mirror was." Harry didn't need to be told what the mirror was; he remembered finding the room with the Mirror of Erisad in it. "No students should be passing along there, so the hallway is largely undisturbed, save for Filch's walks. I know he will not…investigate." Dumbledore paused, then said something that confused the three, "You could pass it easily on your nightly rounds, Severus."

"There is no point," Snape responded immediately, his voice almost shuttered. "It is nothing but a painting now. I simply didn't want any _students_ meddling with it." The way he uttered students, Harry knew full well whom he meant.

"Perhaps it is only a painting," Dumbledore said, and just as Harry knew what Snape's tone implied, he knew just as easily that Dumbledore didn't believe what he claimed. "Still, I imagine there is little harm."

Again, Snape did not answer, and Harry heard Dumbledore's voice again, only very low so they could not make out the words. He strained, and heard a word that sounded like _thalassa_. Then Snape said, stiffly, "Of course I do. But it's in the past now. There is no hope to be gleaned from such a thing."

Their footsteps, muffled from their talk, had turned, and Harry realized they were walking back in. He attempted to peek above the stone, even with Ron's panicked pull on his robe, but only saw the retreating back of the Headmaster, and the black swirl of Snape's cloak. Dumbledore was saying something further, but the opening of the wooden door scraping across the stone drowned his words out. When the door closed with a reverberating clang, Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and slid back down the stone. He heard Hermione and Ron doing the same thing.

"What painting?" Hermione immediately asked, clearly not expecting an answer. "And why would it be a problem if students saw it?"

But Harry was thinking, furiously. "Remember what the Prophet said?" he reminded them. "A Death Eater had been caught, and they found some unusual items in his house. And Dumbledore just said he didn't want the Ministry to have it. Did you hear what he said to Snape, real low? It sounded like tha-something."

"I heard it," Hermione agreed. "He said thalassa. Sounds like a name, I suppose, but a very strange one. And if the Ministry wanted it…"

"It's got to have come from there," Ron agreed. "But if it was dangerous…why would Dumbledore let it be hung up in Hogwarts? I mean, he wouldn't do that, would he?" He sounded vaguely suspicious, knowing full well of the dangerous things loose in Hogwarts, probably things they didn't even know about yet.

"Course not," Hermione said dismissively. "If it had been truly dangerous, the Ministry wouldn't have released it. No, more likely is that it shows something, like a clue, to You-Know-Who….or something terrible that happened. Like a battle. Maybe even someone dying," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"No," Harry disagreed, "because then Snape wouldn't have a problem with us seeing it." He chewed on his fingernail absently. "Dumbledore said it might be awkward for Snape, and Snape said he didn't want students gawking at it."

Ron snorted. "You don't think it's an old portrait of Professor Snape, do you?" he asked, amused. "Something ugly and greasy."

Harry shuddered. "If it were that, I'd never walk down that hallway again," he said, emphatically. Hermione and Ron nodded quickly. "But it might be someone from the old Order, or a scene from somewhere important," he added, trying to not let excitement creep into his tone. "I say we go and look at it."

"Just like that?" Hermione said archly, ignoring Ron's faint pout. "You know that Snape will be suspicious if we just show up there. And I think we should look up that name first."

"It won't be suspicious if we're going to the library, from here," Harry pointed out, already gathering up his books. "It's a long walk around, to be sure, but it makes sense to go up the back way. And we can look up the name afterwards." He held up one of the library books he'd checked out the day before. "We already have a good excuse."

The other two picked up their things, Hermione grumbling, while Ron looked merely hesitant. "Better not be anything disgusting," he mumbled, under his breath.

"Bet it's a huge spider," Hermione teased, with a glint in her eye.

"Or worse," he shot back. "It'll be McGonagall waiting to take off points for us trespassing."

Harry ignored their banter as they made their way along the grounds and to the north side of the school. Inside, he was consumed with the familiar burning curiousity that always overtook him when he thought he might find something to remind him of his all too sketchy past.

It ended up being after the evening meal before they could go up to the fourth floor, as the north entrance had been blocked by a gang of seventh year Slytherins, and they opted to backtrack rather than get into verbal baiting. Inside the main hall, Hermione and Ron had been pressed into Prefect service, and even though Harry was dying to go up and look at the suspect painting, he couldn't justify sneaking up without the other two.

Since Ron had insisted on eating first, shadows had fallen in the hall once they arrived. Ron stopped, touching Hermione on the arm. "We're not going to have to dock points from ourselves for this, are we?" he asked, suspiciously.

"There's nothing wrong with looking at a painting," she pointed out. Both boys merely nodded, not needing the encouragement but glad she hadn't argued for once.

The hallway was narrow and dimly lighted here, and Harry thought it likely wasn't only because of the after dinner hour. It looked like a hall that didn't get much use, and he found himself wondering why the painting had been relegated to this spot. Because of what the teacher's had been arguing over? And why was a painting so offensive to them?

They saw the outline of it as they rounded the corner, rather tall and hanging out a bit from the wall rather than being flush with it. He didn't know what to expect. "Maybe it is the scene from some sort of battle?" he ventured, under the quiet of their footsteps. "Maybe even with You-Know-Who in it."

"Maybe," his friend said next to him, but sounded doubtful. "You know…I've heard of thalassa before…it's some Greek ship. Don't remember any battle there." But Hermione was the first to stop short, since she was a step ahead of them. As the boys came up behind her, they found their mouths hanging open in confusion too.

It was no battle, not even a scene, but instead a simple portrait, of a tallish woman in what looked to be a black nightgown. Harry supposed it could be a dress, but something about the cut of it suggested it wasn't meant to be formal or anything. It hung almost like a triangle on her slight frame, wider at the bottom and exposing bare toes under the hem. The woman was fully awake, although she hadn't been looking in their direction, but down the other end of the hall, her arms crossed over her small chest like a person did when they were cold. They had a moment to stare before she noticed them, moving like all the other pictures at the school did.

The collar of the nightgown was open, sliding more down one shoulder than the other, and her skin was an almost bluish white. Her hair, a very long dark brown that was curled peculiarly, fascinated Harry. It reminded him of statues he had seen in books from ancient times, of evenly spaced s-shaped waves. They didn't look like they could be natural. Her thin, peaked face was saved from being too severe by wide, dark blue eyes. Almost just as their own eyes reached her face, her gaze swept back to them, a hand hitching up the left side of the collar in an obviously routine gesture.

"Uh….hello..?" Ron said, startled into speaking, his voice breaking slightly. "You don't look like a ship."

The woman blinked, confused, then strangely, smiled widely at them. It made all three of them release breaths they didn't realize they were holding. It didn't seem like a menacing smile, but instead a softening one, as if she hadn't been able to smile in a long, long time. "I would hope not," she said, amused. Her voice was deeper than Harry expected; he thought it might be high and thin like her body was, but it sounded more like Professor McGonagall's, serious and thick.

Hermione sniffed, as if she were embarrassed by Ron's observation. "He means," she started, exasperated, "that we heard you were called Thalassa…but we only knew of a ship called that."

The woman nodded, a little too quickly, a chunk of the strangely wavy hair falling forward. "That is my name, Thalassa," she answered, moving forward in the painting. Her voice was almost scratchy from disuse. Harry noticed that it was a full-length portrait, and it was raised off the floor a little, making her seem taller than she really was. "It's Greek for 'ocean' so it makes sense that a boat would be called that, too." She smiled again, rusty. "But no, I am not a ship. Who are you? And how did you know my name?"

They exchanged nervous looks, suddenly aware they perhaps shouldn't have revealed what they knew. "Ah, he's Harry Potter, and I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione started, "and the dunce here is Ron Weasley. We….ah…heard some teachers talking about you. You know….just in passing." H kept her voice light, downplaying the fact that they were sneaking about, yet again.

Thalassa opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, giving Harry the distinct impression of a fish gasping for air. "You said….Potter? And Weasley?" she asked, one hand straying to her chest. "Then….you're James and Lily's little boy?" she asked Harry, then looked at Ron. "And Molly and Arthur's youngest?"

All three stared at her, but Harry was the fastest, starved for any word of his parents. "You knew my mum and dad?" he asked, just as Ron nodded, dumbstruck. He found himself very close to the painting, as if he could grab the woman. "You knew who they were?"

Thalassa's expression of surprise fell into sudden, acute despair, and she sank down to sit on the floor inside the painting, which brought her to just under eye level for them. She drew her knees up to her chest, showing more of her bare feet. "Knew….yes, I knew them, but you mean they are dead, now, of course. Knew them. James and Lily….and Molly and Arthur too? Are they all dead?"

"No, no, my parents are fine," Ron quickly said, then shot Harry a guilty look. "Just….cracking."

Thalassa wiped at her large blue eyes, which were heavy-lidded and dark now. "He told me they were, but I didn't believe him….I didn't want to." Before Harry could ask her who she meant, she lifted her gaze to him again. "What happened? Was it Voldemort? The Death Eaters?"

Harry ignored the usual stifled yelp from Ron, and nodded. "When I was only a baby," he said, dully. "Were you…their friend?" He found himself fervently hoping so, wanted someone else to share memories with, to augment his own.

She nodded, hesitantly. "Somewhat, although I wish I had known them better. You see, I didn't go to this school with them. I came here…in their seventh year. I knew them from only a little before they were married."

Before Harry could ask any more, Hermione jumped in. "Why have you been put here, Thalassa? The…teachers spoke about you like they didn't want anyone to see you. And if you didn't go to Hogwarts, where are you from?"

Thalassa shook her head. "It's likely that it's not you they were hiding me from, but those that knew me back when your parents were killed," she said, looking to Harry. "It was a sad time, and I am…a reminder."

A sick feeling pervaded Harry's stomach at her words. "Were you….murdered…by Voldemort, too?" he whispered, suddenly realizing that her not knowing about his parents might mean she died before they did.

Her face twisted in a moment of pain. "I…can't tell you what happened to me," she answered, trying to soften her voice. For his benefit, he could tell, but it didn't lesson the pit in his stomach any. Hermione put a hand over her mouth in shock. "I wish I could explain myself better, but I can't. Please don't dwell on that." Her gaze swept over them. "You're just children…you shouldn't have to think about him. I was just surprised that…it has been so many years ago now."

"He hasn't gone away," Harry spoke up, but regretting it as soon as he had, and when Hermione poked him almost violently, he said, "But Hogwarts is safe. You're safe here."

Thalassa smiled at his attempt to reassure her. "There's nothing more he could do to me," she answered, gently. "And as to where I came from, I went to a wizarding school in Greece called Skoupa Oros."

Hermione brightened. "I've heard of that school…it means 'Broom Mountain' in English," she offered. "I read about it in…" She trailed off as she saw a familiar look on Ron and Harry's faces. "Well, it's a pretty famous school, anyway."

"Thank you, Hermione," she returned, with a brief smile. "I did like it. But I came here in my seventh year to study abroad. My parents and….the parents of a friend had arranged it." Her voice started to strain, and she evened it out, but not before they noticed it. "They wanted us to go to school together."

Harry was curious despite himself. Maybe it was another classmate of his parents that he knew. "Who was your friend?"

Thalassa's face contorted suddenly, making them draw back, and she quickly covered it with her thin fingers, the wavy hair shaking. "I cannot tell you," she murmured, from behind her hands. "I'm sorry….I'm forbidden to talk about certain things."

Harry stared at Hermione and Ron. Forbidden? He'd never heard of any curse being placed on a portrait before, about what they could and couldn't talk about. "You mean…you're magically forbidden?" he asked, perplexed. "Like…a curse?" At her barely perceptible nod, he added, "But who would put a curse on a painting?"

Hermione tugged on his arm insistently. "Maybe Dumbledore didn't want us to find out something," she hissed, in an undertone. Thalassa had smoothed her hair back with her hands, regaining her composure. Harry and Hermione looked back at her, but she had averted her eyes still, looking again down the hallway. Raising her voice again, Hermione asked, determinedly, "What exactly is it you can't talk about?"

Thalassa pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, almost tiredly. "I….can't tell you much more about where I come from, or what I did…it's almost all things about myself. But I can try and talk to you about your parents," she offered Harry, hopefully. "And you can always tell me things. Frankly, I wouldn't mind the company, poor as mine is."

Ron looked at the others, feeling a rush of sympathy. "Well, we have had our share of adventures, I guess, knowing Harry," he started, with a half-smile to Harry, who returned it. "But right now it's exam time, so we're not doing much except trying to avoid Professors McGonaghall and Snape."

Thalassa's eyes shot to Ron so fast he took a step back. The blue depths seemed to be almost on fire, and she leaned so far forward Harry wondered if she could fall out of the frame. "Professor….Snape?" she rasped, her voice thick with some indeterminate emotion. "He's….he's here, teaching at Hogwarts?"

Hermione nodded slowly, since Ron looked petrified to the spot by her suddenly piercing gaze. "Professor Severus Snape," she said, warily. "He teaches Potions.." Her voice trailed off, unsure what else to add.

"But…he was…he'd become.." Thalassa wilted, more from unsureness than anything. "He'd become…a Death Eater," she finally whispered. "He had joined Voldemort."

Harry felt Hermione grab his hand just under his robe sleeve, in sudden concern. So Thalassa had known Snape back then too. They must have been in the same class, he realized. "He rebelled, or something," Harry started, almost irritated that he found himself defending Snape. "He refused to be one any longer. I don't know, but I think it was just before my parents were killed."

"But after—" she started, then her expression grew contorted again, and she turned it a bit away from them. Afterwhat, Harry found himself wondering, and he saw the same in Hermione and Ron's eyes. She turned back to them. "So he refused the Dark Lord…and he survived." Her tone was one of wonder, and also some deep sadness Harry couldn't place. "That's….I'm glad. But it also explains why I am here, hidden in this hallway."

"Why?" Hermione asked, before Harry or Ron could.

"Because Severus would never want to see my face again," she answered, simply.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite their best entreaties, they couldn't get Thalassa to explain her cryptic words, although she apologized for not being able to. Disappointed and yet curious beyond belief, they trooped back down the hallway after it became too late to stay and talk, heading back towards the common room. They made it all the way to the Fat Lady in silence, then Harry muttered the password. But before it could open, Hermione said, "Wait, don't open yet!"

The Fat Lady paused, looking down at Hermione superciliously, as if surprised the girl gave her an order. "Yes..?" she queried, drawing out the word.

"Do you know of a new portrait that's been hung up on the fourth floor?" Hermione asked, tilting her head a little in curiosity.

The Fat Lady sniffled a little. "I don't make it my business to gossip about every new addition," she drawled, "but I suppose I could greet whoever is there. Did you have a question about it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Just wanted to know who she was, that's all," she said brightly.

The Fat Lady inclined her head, regally. "I shall deign to look her up," she conceded, before sliding open and letting them into the common room proper.

Ron looked at Hermione with a modicum of respect. "Good idea, 'Mione," he said approvingly. "Get the other portraits to do our work for us. But why you think she's so keen on Snape not seeing her?"

Harry had been wrestling with the same thing all the way back to Gryffindor tower, and he could only come to one conclusion. "She knew he'd become a Death Eater," he said, his voice very low as they found a trio of chairs close together and settled into them. "And she said that he'd rebelled before my parents were killed, but after….after what, do you think?"

"After she herself had died," Hermione said, glumly. "I know exactly what you are thinking, Harry, and I agree. I think she means that…Snape," she pitched his name even quieter, "killed her, when he was a Death Eater."

Ron's mouth fell open, not having come to it as quickly as the other two had. "No way," he shot back, flabbergasted. "If he'd killed someone, they would never have let him teach here."

"But he was a Death Eater," Hermione hissed, "and we know he served as a spy to help the Order out, so it was likely that it got him the job here, as reward. I mean…if he helped them stop You-Know-Who, then maybe it was enough to overlook it."

"Overlook murder?" Ron said, aghast, making Harry and Hermione shush him, soundly. "There's no way," he repeated. "If he….killed someone, they wouldn't let him teach. Work at the Ministry, maybe."

"It makes perfect sense," Hermione stated, flatly, and Harry found himself nodding, grateful she had said it and not him. He couldn't deny he hated Snape and was more inclined to believe it of him…but Hermione tended to be more impartial. "But it wouldn't hurt to see if the library had some reference to her…"

Both Harry and Ron groaned. "What, just some painting in the fourth floor hallway?" Ron protested. "There's no reason it'd be in some history book."

"Except," Hermione retorted, irritably, "that we know she wasn't in that hallway all this time. She'd only just gotten here, remember? Dumbledore was telling Snape about where he'd put it, and Snape said that he…disagreed with the whole thing, isn't that right? I mean.." She bit her lip, thinking. "We thought he didn't like where it was placed, like he didn't want any students to see it, but maybe he meant he didn't want it in the castle at all!"

"Like maybe she's dangerous to us," Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione shook her head, with an almost pitying look to Ron, but it was Harry who spoke up. "Or maybe she knows things that Snape doesn't want her to tell us," he offered. "Like…secrets." Truthfully, he hated knowing any of Snape's secrets; he'd had enough during their Occlumency lessons. But she'd also said she knew his parents.

"It's too late now to work on it," Hermione said, decisively ending the conversation as she rose up. "We've got exams very soon, and I know you two haven't studied as much as you claim. The portrait isn't going anywhere…and neither are you two," she said ominously, "if you don't get your homework finished for once."

The two boys didn't even grumble; Hermione's dark threats simply rolled off their backs now, and they even half-heartedly resumed their conversation once up in the dorm, readying for bed. But Harry realized he didn't like thinking about another person that Voldemort…or perhaps even Snape…had killed. He fell asleep wondering what things his parents might have said to him from the confines of their own portraits, if they spoke at all.

It wasn't until the second afternoon class that Ron and Harry met up with Hermione again, in Charms class. He and Ron had conspired about the mystery all morning, and had lost fifteen points for Gryffindor in the process, so they weren't keen at all when Hermione said, "I've got a new idea to get more information about the portrait."

"Not the library," Harry muttered. When Hermione looked hurt, he said, quickly, "It's just that Ron and I have already gotten points off for talking in class, and I'm sure Madame Pince would be worse."

"Well, it's not the library," Hermione answered, with a bit of smug satisfaction. "Who else do we know was at the school when Thalassa, Snape, and your parents were all here?" she asked Harry.

Harry blinked at her, caught off guard. "Dumbledore?" he offered, hesitantly. "I don't think he'd tell us if we just asked-"

"No, no, not Dumbledore," Hermione sighed. "Think. Someone we could talk to…"

Ron made a face. "I'm not asking someone like McGonagall out of the blue…she'd turn us in for meddling for sure."

With a huffy expression, Hermione opened her mouth to rail at him, but Harry interrupted. "Hagrid!" he said, excitedly, before Hermione pinched him for being too loud. Luckily, the classroom was buzzing with voices reciting charms spells left and right. "Of course, Hagrid was here too," he said, much lower. "We can ask him about it."

Ron brightened. Anything that kept him from getting in trouble was a bonus. "Does that mean we don't have to go to the library?"


	3. Chapter 3

But the familiar little hut was quiet when the three got to it, and Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach when he saw that no smoke was rising from the chimney. Dejected, he knocked on the door anyway, but there wasn't even an answering bark from Fang. At that point, he hadn't realized yet how much his hopes had been raised by this strange mystery. That if the portrait could tell him more about his parents….but he ruthlessly shoved that thought aside as he turned to face Ron and Hermione.

"He's not.." he started, but his eyes had traveled up the hillside, and he spotted a familiar hulking figure picking it's way across the rock-strewn ground. The wolfhound, Fang, was loping alongside. "Hagrid!" he shouted, passing Ron and Hermione and going up the hill path towards the half-giant. Seeing him, so solid and real and alive, reassured Harry from fears he didn't even realize he was having. "Hagrid," he said again, once they were close enough to hear Hagrid's rough breathing, and see that he was carrying a lumpy sack across his back. Even though Harry knew the sack likely contained some heinous creature, or at least it's egg, he couldn't help but smile.

"Well, 'ere's a treat," Hagrid said, genially, a smile splitting his bushy beard. "All three o' you, waiting back for me as nice as you please." His black eyes twinkled. "Come to see what your old pal Hagrid's fetched for the first year classes, have you? It's a lovely little MacBoon creature-"

"A quintaped?" Hermione shrieked, making Ron and Harry jump. "Hagrid, they like to eat humans!" she hissed. "You can't bring even a baby one in with first years!"

"No, no, nothing like that, 'Ermione," Hagrid said, with a bit of sheepishness. "'S not a real quintaped." He gave a little sigh that told the three of them, quite obviously, that he was disappointed in not having one of the flesh-eating spiderlike quintapeds. "Just a mutation on a dugbog, givin' it an extra few legs. Ministry figures someone be cross-breeding them, illegal you know, and so gave one ta me, see if'n I could figure out what happened to it."

They had been walking back towards the hut as Hagrid explained, and he invited them in for tea. Fang obligingly flopped onto the floor, and fell into a nap, but Harry, Hermione, and especially Ron had kept their eyes firmly on the sack as Hagrid laid it down on the floor. He busied himself making tea while asking about their classes, but Ron whispered roughly to Hermione, "Is a quintaped anything like…you know…a spider?" His eyes had gone wide and didn't move from the bag.

She opened her mouth to reply, but settled for a quick shake of her head as Hagrid turned and passed out the overlarge cups he used. His hands were surprisingly delicate as he set down their tea as well as his own. "Now, just let me take care o'this," he added, with a sort of winking smile, as Harry found himself gripping the mug a bit tightly. Ron swallowed hard, and even Hermione looked a bit nervous. As Hagrid picked the bag up and walked over to what looked like a small tub, Hermione reached over and took the tea from Ron's hands, which had been shaking it a bit. Sheepishly, Ron relinquished the cup, scooting back in his chair a bit.

Thankfully, Hagrid simply emptied the bag into the murky water inside the tub, and they barely got a glimpse of thin, wooden limbs before it splashed down and quickly swam to the bottom. The large gamekeeper set a rusty iron lid on it and tossed the bag into the corner, returning to his tea as if nothing were amiss. "That's done, then," he said, cheerfully. "It'll keep til we've had our tea. So, what brings the three o' you down here tonight? Little break from the classes, eh?" He took a swallow of the tea, after blowing on it noisily.

"Well, we…we wanted to ask you about a former student, of Hogwarts," Harry started, glancing at Ron and Hermione for guidance. "We've been…we heard a story about her, and we need to know if it's true." That wasn't quite what they decided on telling Hagrid, but Harry saw Ron's mild shrug and Hermione's quick nod, and knew it was close enough.

"Alright, then," Hagrid said, pursing his lips in a thoughtful frown. "I'll do my best, o'course. Who is it ye wanted to know about? And from when? I cannot recall all the students, you know." He gave them a penetrating look. "A lot o' them don't pay attention with Care of Magical Creatures, which is a damn shame, I tell you."

Harry nodded, quickly, to show he felt the same. "Right. Well, this would be someone who was here at the same time as my parents." When Hagrid gestured with a hand to continue, he added, "But not the whole time. Her name was Thalassa. I don't know her last name." Harry paused, and looked to the other two, seeing the same look. They hadn't even asked that, and in retrospect it seemed a foolish oversight. "But she was from Greece-"

"Hold on, now," Hagrid interrupted, setting his mug down and leaning a bit forward. "Did you say Thalassa?"

"Yes, Thalassa," Hermione said, quickly, as Harry and Ron straightened up. It was clear Hagrid did indeed know something.

"Haven't heard 'bout her in a long time," Hagrid said, musingly. "Don't know what I could help you too much; didn't know her that well. I'd say Dumbledore could tell you more, or Professor Snape o'course, but he wouldn't be talking 'bout that." Hagrid gave them a knowing look, apparently oblivious that they were mystified by the comment, and asked, "How did you hear a story about her?"

"We found a portrait of her, in the castle," Hermione said, sitting up as she set down her own tea. "We were trying to figure out what happened to her."

"Yea, and people keep mentioning Snape," Ron interrupted, impatiently, "But we've no idea what that's all on about."

"Well, o'course they would," Hagrid replied, affronted.

"Did he….kill…her?" Ron ventured, hesitantly. Hermione and Harry found themselves holding their breath, then drew back as Hagrid slapped his knee, apparently in surprise.

"Kill Thalassa? Don't be daft!" he answered, tugging at his beard. "What would make you say something like that? I'd say if the Professor ever came close to caring 'bout anyone, it woulda been Tha."

Harry pressed his hands into the arms of the chair, his face serious. He had to know some answers, and he knew Dumbledore wouldn't be the one to tell him. For some reason, the idea of this curse on the painting was eating at him. "Hagrid," he said, patiently, "we don't know what you are talking about. All we know is that her name is Thalassa, she died before my parents were killed, but after Snape became a Death Eater." He sighed, wishing he could explain about the portrait's curse, but he didn't know how to do that just yet. "We also knew that she came to Hogwarts when my parents, and Snape, were in their seventh year."

"Please, Hagrid," Hermione entreated. "We just want to know why she was killed…what happened to her."

With a heavy sigh, the half-giant leaned back in his chair, looking around the room a moment in introspection, before his eyes returned to the three earnest students. Ron was still shooting wary glances at the tub with the dugbog, but Harry and Hermione were watching Hagrid like hawks. "Alright," he said, heavily. "I suppose it don't hurt no one to tell a bit about it. But you shouldn't go repeating things around Professor Snape," he said, warningly. "He'll not like you three prying into his business."

"Why is Snape so important?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "If he didn't kill her…"

"…then maybe, they were…married?" Harry asked, suddenly, his voice a mix of realization and horror. Ron turned to stare at him, but he saw the same wonder in his friend's eyes. They hadn't asked her last name, and Dumbledore had said Snape should _visit_ the portrait-

"Now, stop, yer getting ahead of yourselves," Hagrid said, almost grumpy, holding up his hands in protest. "Not along the wrong path, but jes hold on a tic." He sighed again, letting his hands drop. "No, they weren't married," he started, giving Harry a baleful look, "but they were supposed to be. And neither of them liked it very much at all at first."

"What, like their parents arranged it?" Hermione asked, with a deep frown.

"Summat like that," Hagrid answered, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't recall it being official or anything, just that Tha's parents sent her here because they were lookin' to marry her into a pureblood family. Not normal to take in exchange students," he pointed out, "but they were pretty well-to-do, and got a few strings pulled, and there you are." He nodded his head once, as if that explained everything. "She weren't happy being here, away from home; the professor….well, he weren't a professor then, o'course….well, Snape weren't too happy about being nominated, as it were. I recall quite a few of his classmates cheeked him for it, but by then I don't think he cared." Hagrid's voice had gone quiet, his gaze unfocussed, as if he were looking into the years past.

"But…you said he liked her," Ron, surprisingly, prompted him. He sounded unsure, but slightly defiant, as if he couldn't really believe that.

"Oh, aye," Hagrid said, with a deep nod. "Tha, she was a rather serious little thing, you know, and she said, quite firmly, that if that's how things were to be, then she would stick to it. Never complained about that, not even when she were gettin' teased for it. Acted like nothing could shake it." He gave a small half-smile, reminiscent. "At first, I think Snape were surprised, you know…then a bit suspicious, ignored her for most o' the year, if I recall correctly. But by graduation…" His voice trailed off, and he frowned.

"What?" Harry said, this time. "What happened? I mean, didn't he join the Death Eaters after graduation?"

"Some time after, yes. But not right away. And I think…well, I daresay her persistence wore him down in the end," Hagrid said finally. "He realized she weren't going no where, no matter what anyone said, and, well…came to trust her, in a way. Liked her quite a bit at the end, I believe."

Hermione shook her head, sadly. "Then, if that's true, who killed her? Why did she have to die?" Harry found himself picking up his cup as Hermione spoke, warming his suddenly cold hands. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answers now, not when they would likely start intersecting with his parent's deaths.

Hagrid took a deep, fortifying breath. "The Order was formed a little while afore you was born, Harry," he spoke, looking at Harry as he established the time for them. "Few years after their graduation. I was a member then, too. Rough time.." His grizzled hair moved as he lowered his head a moment. "Death Eaters were getting' lazy, sure of their master's power, you know. Snape…well, I cannot rightly say what Snape were doing at the time. That's somein' you'd need to ask Dumbledore about. But I know he'd taken the Mark by then, saw it myself once, though he tried hidin' it. He and Tha were still planning on gettin' married, still lived close enough by, and one day, Tha came to see Dumbledore." Hagrid tugged on his beard again, slightly agitated.

"Most of the Order was absent, off lookin' into things, trying to stop the Death Eaters, but I heard a bit o' it. She were telling Dumbledore how You-Know-Who wanted her to join them, but she couldn't bring herself to it, and she knew it were dangerous for Snape, what with her refusal and all. She…" He paused, recalling. "She wanted the Aurors to arrest her, make it so she couldn't go back. But Dumbledore asked why she didn't just leave. And she said…said Snape _needed_ her." Hagrid shook his head, disbelieving. "Made a promise, she did. And you might not believe it," he said, serious, looking into their eyes, "but I could see that she didn' _want_ to leave. Whatever was going on with You-Know-Who, I think by then she cared too much about Snape."

"Then….Voldemort had her killed," Harry said, softly, letting his eyes drop. "Because she wouldn't follow him."

"Aye," Hagrid said, just as quiet. "Can't say which Death Eater it was, but yes, one o' them killed her, left her for Snape to find. A message o' sorts, Dumbledore said. Snape and the headmaster got into quite a row after that, something I only heard about, and then a few months later, Snape let hisself get caught, and shortly after that was when yer parents died, Harry." Hagrid fell silent, pressing his large hand to his mouth, as if it was tired after his long tale.

Hermione, Harry and Ron all slumped in their chairs. They hadn't expected anything of what Hagrid told them, especially not this hidden part of Snape's past. Harry knew he'd never have believed any story of Snape falling in love, not those fanciful tales like the ones they spun of his parents. But this seemed to make more sense to him. Being in love changed a person, and he had seen Snape as a teenager. He was no different now, except perhaps even crueler. But Harry found himself wondering. What would someone like Snape do, faced with a woman who withstood all his cruel remarks and didn't budge? It was hard to find that kind of loyalty, and Harry knew it was a form of love. He didn't take it for granted, what he had with Hermione and Ron, and that was loyalty incarnate. And he knew it was rare. If Snape hadn't come to love her in the end, he certainly trusted her. Trusted that she would have always been there, no matter what.

Except that in the end, she hadn't been. Someone had killed her, and worse, one of those Snape likely called friends. Inwardly, Harry shuddered. If Snape had ever come to believe in something like loyalty, through Thalassa, then that had surely destroyed it beyond repair.

Hermione looked among the three of them, sighing as if she were judging their ability to go on. Finally, she rose from her seat. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said, sincerely. "We just…really wanted to know what had happened to her." Her tone was somber, and she touched Harry on the hand. "We should get back to the castle," she added, to both him and Ron.

Ron obediently pushed himself out of the chair, brushing red hair off his bewildered expression, after looking at Hagrid again with something akin to sympathy, and he, too, prodded at Harry. "Yea, we don't want to be out after curfew," he offered, even though they knew it was still a while off.

Harry let his friends bully him into rising, and offering their goodbyes to Hagrid, and a few conciliatory pats to Fang. But Harry paused in the door, looking down at Ron and Hermione on the steps, and Hagrid, his first true friend, hovering just behind him. What would he do if Voldemort killed any of them? "Someday, he'll pay for it," he said, under his breath where the others couldn't hear him. "Someday. For all of it."


End file.
